


The First Kiss

by Sherlockisactuallyagirlsname221



Series: 30 day OTP challenge [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Angst, Deathfic, Feelings, First Kiss, Grief, Johnlock - Freeform, Kissing, M/M, Post S4, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 18:19:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11064537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlockisactuallyagirlsname221/pseuds/Sherlockisactuallyagirlsname221
Summary: The first time John feels his lips against Sherlock’s, he hates it.





	The First Kiss

The sound of a gun firing echoes in the alley. The sound of a body hitting the ground. Steps running towards the tall man on the ground. “Sherlock!” A strangled shout makes its way past the doctor’s lips as he approaches the pale man on the ground. This isn’t happening, this can’t be real. The woman firing the gun is long gone when the blonde finally, after what seems like ages, reaches the body.

The deep red blood is quickly making its way through the thin fabric of the white button-down. The already pale skin seems almost transparent and the ice blue eyes aren’t to be seen behind the tightly shut eyelids. The dark curls are spread over the dark asphalt in the alley, and a heart-rending groan can be heard as he moves his head and opens his eyes to the blonde standing in front of him. 

The blonde man falls to his knees, his breathing uneven as he softly brings the detectives head into his lap. Shaking fingers are brushing against the ivory skin and into the auburn curls he adored so much. This wasn’t real. This could only be a bad dream. He wasn’t sitting in a dark alley with Sherlock’s head in his lap as he was bleeding from a gunshot. No, definitely not real. His eyes meet the taller man’s now glassy eyes.

“John.” His voice is weak and hoarse, not his usual deep and powerful voice and the pain in the word can easily be heard. “No, No. This is not real!” John’s voice is shaking as he tries to convince himself to wake up, but it doesn’t happen. “I can’t do this, not again!” This time his voice is filled with as much pain as Sherlock’s. It wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a normal day, they were supposed to get take-away and watch crap telly. 

Memories from years ago flood his mind. Images of the dark haired man lying motionless on the pavement. A pool of red underneath his head and lifeless eyes staring back at him as his whole world collapses. It’s the soft humming that rips him from his thoughts. You can hear the pain behind the voice, but the humming is soft and the melody is one he knows well. He danced to it on his wedding with his then wife. The waltz he wrote for Mary’s and his wedding. 

The taste of blood fills his mouth as he realises his teeth is clenched hard around his bottom lip. The humming stops and silence fills the air again. John’s eyes meet Sherlock’s as he draws a shaking breath and moves his cold hand on top of John’s. “That was supposed to be our waltz.” The voice is vague and it’s barely a whisper, but it’s full of the feelings. The feelings they have never been able to express, and now it’s too late.

The first time John feels his lips against Sherlock’s, he hates it. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. They would be at home, sitting in their chairs, maybe they would’ve had something to drink. Their fingers would brush against each other and their eyes would lock. The lips would be warm and soft as they touch for the first time, Sherlock responding to the kiss with soft movements.

Or it would be after a case, with the adrenaline still rushing through their veins. They would get back to Baker Street and John would slam the door behind then, before being met by Sherlock’s lips, hungry and desperate, as they would press each other against the walls.

But it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Never like this. They should be at home and not on the ground in some alley with the echo of a firing gun hanging in the air around them. The lips he touches is still warm, but unresponsive and his body is limb. A hand is pressed hard against the wound and John tries to count, begging for one more miracle.

The next thing he feels is a pair of firm hands trying to pull him away from the man on the ground. He tries to fight it, gripping at the dark Belstaff. “No leave me alone!” He shouts at the man behind him, “Don’t take him away from me!” His voice is shaking hard. Eventually the exhaustion overwhelms him and the man pulls him away. 

He watches as the men decide they can’t do anymore for him. He watches as they lift him onto the stretcher. A pale arm is hanging over the edge, sticking out under the black blanket as they drive him into the ambulance. A hand is placed on his shoulder and the blonde reacts by pulling away. “Leave me alone!” The hand disappears from his shoulder but the man doesn’t leave. A black coat is placed in front of his eyes. Sherlock’s coat. 

The blonde rips the Belstaff from the man and wraps it around his shoulders. The man collapses once again and buries his head in his hands. His body is shaking violently. The coat smells of tea and cigarettes. It smells of Sherlock.


End file.
